


Staring Contest

by psiten



Series: SASO 2016 Fills [12]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis, 弱虫ペダル | Yowamushi Pedal
Genre: Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2016, Crack, Crossover, Fluff, Gen, This Is Not Deep, Wordless Conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 07:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13072404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psiten/pseuds/psiten
Summary: The yellow jersey didn't look like any that Fukutomi was familiar with, but there were schools from all over the country here, not just cyclists but from sports of every kind. Some high schools had even gotten permission to bring their Go clubs, Karuta clubs, and School Idol clubs, all of which Fukutomi generally considered cultural clubs rather than sports. But that wasn't his call, and the event runners definitely knew their own business. As such, he had no idea what to expect when he met the stony gaze under the man's navy blue ball cap.Original Prompt: Remember when [Sanada and Fukutomi] had the longest stare down contest that their friends had to physically remove them from each other? Also, do you remember how they deeply respected each other afterwards because neither backed down?





	Staring Contest

     The All-Japan High School Athletics Festival wasn't the sort of event that Hakone Gakuen usually participated in, but the principal had specifically asked them to do a booth this year, in order to attract new students. And if the Hakogaku Bicycle Racing Club was going to be a presence, they would represent the best this festival had to offer. Fukutomi had personally trained all of his regulars in the finer points of face painting and ensured that they would have appropriate equipment. The only thing that remained was to pick the ideal booth location, so they could hang their sign.

     Equidistant from the restrooms and food service, facing the main cavalcade, plenty of seating nearby, near the front entrance, but not so close that people passed by on their way to better things. And once in the ideal area, he scanned for the one that would offer the best ratio of light to shade over the course of the day.

     It was even near a water fountain. It was ideal. The only problem was that there was a man standing inside. The yellow jersey didn't look like any that Fukutomi was familiar with, but there were schools from all over the country here, not just cyclists but from sports of every kind. Some high schools had even gotten permission to bring their Go clubs, Karuta clubs, and School Idol clubs, all of which Fukutomi generally considered cultural clubs rather than sports. But that wasn't his call, and the event runners definitely knew their own business. As such, he had no idea what to expect when he met the stony gaze under the man's navy blue ball cap.

     The waiting man crossed his arms as if to say, "I was here first. I have claimed this space in the name of my brethren."

     Very well. Fukutomi could match him stare for stare. He was certain his message came across: that the gentleman knew spaces were not considered taken until a team had begun setting up their equipment, and it was the height of rudeness to occupy prime territory with no indication of when one's teammates would be showing up with said equipment.

     He knew his message was received from the frown on the man's face. The answer was plain. "My people will come. I would trust them to find me in Hell if they had to. I will not yield this place."

     The next several minutes of stares could be summed up for the layperson as a series of "Yes you will"s and "No I won't"s, but to reduce it thusly has the side effect of removing the countless subtleties in an non-verbal contest of iron wills. Nevertheless, as verbal language is insufficient to describe the extent of nuance seen in an eye wrinkle versus an eye crinkle, or the scale involved in arching a lip as well as an eyebrow, that summary will have to suffice. Needless to say, those who couldn't read the depth of the exchange Fukutomi was engaging in with this gentleman were distraught.

     "Fuku-chan, what the fuck? This one's taken! We can go one over! Toudou-san, help me carry this stuff to the next booth!"

     "Not likely. I'm not moving all this stuff _all the way over there_ just to get told to bring it back in five minutes. Hang on, I've got a text. Maybe it's Maki-chan saying where Sohoku is..."

     "Hey, Juichi," Shinkai said, laying a hand on Fukutomi's shoulder. "You haven't blinked in two minutes. I'm starting to get scared. ... Excuse us, sir--"

     Fukutomi held out his arm, letting Shinkai know he should stay back. This was between them.

     But from somewhere behind them, an unfamiliar voice called out, "Gen'ichirou!" and the approaching stranger snapped a few times. Fukutomi's interlocutor broke away without a second thought, straightening up even straighter than Fukutomi had realized the man's already incredibly straight posture could allow. How unexpected. This man answered to someone? But more importantly, if the man he'd been debating with had been joined by his teammates, then it was Fukutomi's loss. The man in the ball cap -- this Gen'ichirou -- had successfully fended him off long enough for his claim to be made good.

     A pretty man with wavy hair led a retinue of yellow-coated teammates to the front of the booth, most of them carrying a prodigious amount of water in troughs, and the pretty man himself holding a box of water balloons. "Gen'ichirou, it turns out this is the high school area. Middle schools go on the other side of the hill. But don't worry, I had a little chat with the officer who misdirected you. He won't be making that mistake again." This stranger turned to Fukutomi with a smile. "My apologies for the misunderstanding. We'll be leaving now. Best of luck with your booth."

     "To you as well," Fukutomi answered. There was a chilling depth in this man's eyes that even he couldn't look at for long. If this had been the man holding the booth, Fukutomi doubted the argument would have lasted for two seconds, but then again, the pretty stranger didn't seem like the type to wait for anyone.

     The man in the ball cap paused next to Fukutomi on his way out. "I appear to have been slacking."

     "No," Fukutomi said, grabbing the man's arm and meeting his gaze again. "You were strong."


End file.
